


Watchtower

by Jane St Clair (3jane)



Series: Restaurant Dogs [6]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jane/pseuds/Jane%20St%20Clair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the subject of Wesley's swimwear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watchtower

He's wondering where Wesley found that bathing suit.  Because even  
Olympic swimmers wear more than that.  Well, as of this year, Olympic  
swimmers dress like they're going cold-ocean diving, but he's thinking  
of the '84 Olympics, which he can kind of remember, even though his  
Mom couldn't float tickets for them, not by a long shot.  But he  
remembers pictures in the paper, on TV, in the McDonald's and  
plastered on walls and well, pretty much everywhere, really.  You'd  
have thought there was actually competition, the way people howled  
about it.  And he remembers the nearly-naked men's swim team, shaved-  
slick bodies just barely covered by their suits, the fantasy of every  
boy who ever swung both ways, or just backwards.

Wesley's bathing suit lives somewhere in the country between Speedo  
and thong.  It's black and slick and it comes up at the sides in a way  
that's good at reminding Gunn, and anyone else who looks, that men do  
indeed have hips.

It's a small enough surprise in the mess of this week.  On Monday,  
Cordelia announced over coffee that they were day-tripping.  At the  
time, Gunn had been thinking more about bed -- he'd been out all night  
with Angel, and his shoulder hurt, and he was exhausted.  He'd been  
sleeping days to keep up.  The coffee was just to keep him conscious  
long enough to get home.

Cordelia's announcement was accompanied by a date, a departure time,  
and a map of the coastline that included a circle in red permanent  
marker.  One beach, privately owned and not in use, unguarded and  
secured with a fence and lock sequence that they knew how to bypass.    
The whole thing was a tribute to Cordelia's research skills, really.    
He'd glanced at the couch while she was talking and watched Wesley  
make a mental note not to let her shuffle recon work over to her when  
it wasn't his job.

He remembers the rest of that morning to the extent that he went home  
and found Wesley waiting by the door, just like he'd been sitting  
there all along and hadn't had to travel at all.  Gunn gave him a  
dirty look and then gave up, let Wesley take him in and strip him down  
and put him to bed.  Cool wizard's hands rubbed his back until he fell  
asleep.

This morning's surprise was Cordelia's music.  She "borrowed" Angel's  
convertible and swung around to collect him with the top down and that  
fucking scarf around her head like some kind of old-time movie star.    
She had the radio on, playing something breakable-sounding and top 40,  
and Wesley was sprawled in the back seat, obviously still not really  
awake.  Gunn reached to fix the station but Cordelia slapped his hand  
without looking over at him, and wouldn't let him touch the dial until  
they were more or less out of the city.

About the time they struck palm trees, she stopped paying attention.    
The FM broadcast signal was already breaking up, though, and he wasn't  
sure how much he was going to be able to pick up the farther out they  
got.  Flipped the glove compartment open and was rewarded with a rain  
of tapes onto his feet.  Mostly out of their cases, smudged black  
plastic with the labels mostly worn away by years of handling.  Even  
the bootleg tapes weren't decently marked -- the original neat labels  
had been scribbled out, and generally written over with just "car  
tape" or "good music."

Cordelia didn't look over.  "Give me the top one."

"They're on the floor, Cordelia."

"That was clever of you.  Next time don't mess with my system.  And  
find the black one with the bronze smudge on the left corner."

Which wasn't helpful, but after handing her six wrong tapes he found  
it.  And got to spend the next hour and some listening to Jimi  
Hendrix, which if a little surreal was at least a lot less painful  
than he'd expected.  Not his usual, but good.  And very not how he  
thought of Cordelia.  But she'd picked the tape, and she knew it by  
touch, apparently, and who was he to say anything?

Sometime after that, he got loose from his seatbelt and crawled over  
the back of the seat and dumped himself half on top of Wesley.  Who  
blinked at him owlishly, then scooted over without sitting up.  Gunn  
didn't take him up on that.  Cordelia was watching him very hard in  
the rear-view, though he wasn't sure how he could tell while she was  
wearing glasses as dark as those.  Instead stuck himself against a  
door and accepted Wesley's feet in his lap and left Cordelia  
unquestioned lordship (ladyship?) over the front seat and the tape  
deck therein.

He's sprawled now on his stomach on the warm sand watching Wesley lift  
himself out of the water.  He knew when Cordelia planned this trip  
that skinny-dipping wasn't on the list of things to do, but he still  
thought about it.  And then tried to picture Wesley in swimwear.    
Briefly, the image he got was of those full-body striped things you  
see in old cartoons, but he supposes that's just Wes' Englishness  
working on him.  Actually, he assumed that Wes would probably come up  
with something in the nature of black, slightly baggy shorts, the same  
kind of concealing clothes he wears all the time, pared down.

He wasn't expecting this.  The long, pale expanse of Wesley's body was  
enough to crank his own body awake in the half-minute he got to look  
at it before Wes was in the ocean and swimming.  The sea was calm  
enough that neither Gunn nor Cordelia stopped him from heading out,  
though Gunn suspects that Cordy was surprised that Wes could even  
swim.  Even he was surprised at the easy breaststroke the man moved  
into, pushing his head into the water so that he vanished and  
reappeared every couple of seconds.

Since then, Gunn's been dozing.  He hasn't been able to get himself  
off the nocturnal swing he's been on, not completely, and the sun's  
warm.  And he's seriously getting to like beaches, especially quiet  
ones.  His respect for Cordelia's recon skills is growing -- he'll  
have to tell her that sometime.

Cordelia's off to his right, lying on her back with her hair pinned up  
and her very naked belly exposed to the sun.  He wants to tell her  
that tanning'll give her cancer, but doesn't bother.  Turns instead  
towards the water and watches Wes pull himself onto the rocks.

The long, wet line of Wes' body reminds him of . . . he wants to think  
of something really poetic, but all he comes up with is sex.  Naked  
skin and salt.  The arch of him pulling from his shoulders to lift  
himself out of the water.  Just upper body strength holding him there  
until he's half out of the water, when he finds a toehold.  And then  
just pauses there, balanced with his belly pressed against the rock  
and his head up, listening to something Gunn doesn't hear.

Not looking at him.  Which is good, because it gives Gunn the freedom  
he needs to get up and go over there.  He has to dodge between  
boulders to get to the one he wants, and by the time he's there, he's  
wet to the knees, but he's stretched on the warm stone by the time  
Wesley rises to meet him.

"Hey."

"Hello."  Wes is doing the quiet-amused-Englishman thing, just  
watching him and almost-not-quite smiling.

Long pause.  Warm sun on both of them.  The beach behind them is huge  
and it only gradually gives way to the hills where they left the car.    
Just low brush and six miles of dirt road to the highway.

Wesley says, "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure we should with Cordelia watching."

Wesley pushes up farther, so that he's bending over the edge of the  
rock and resting on his forearms.  "You think she might be offended?"

Gunn snorts.  "I think she might want to join in."  He can picture her  
doing that, actually.  He's not entirely sure what she thinks of him,  
but he knows that at some point in the past she had it for Wes, and it  
just feels like the kind of day when things might get out of hand.  He  
offers his arm.  Wesley grasps him just below the elbow and pulls  
himself up, then stretched out on his side.

He's still not used to the way Wesley's body turns him on.  He wonders  
if it got wired into him at some point while Wes' powers were  
manifesting.  The itching power-charge is gone, but he still gets odd  
sparks off the man sometimes.  Still looks at him and gets turned on  
for no reason.  He wakes up sometimes thinking about knives.

"Is she watching us?" he asks.

"Cordelia?  No."

"Good."  Fiercely.  "You're sure?"

"Ye-es."  Wesley just watches him.

"OK."

He reached out and brushes the arch of Wesley's body from his ribs  
down to his pelvis.  Long, pale line of flesh getting sunburned in the  
blazing light of this day.  He knows there are places where the sun  
doesn't so constantly shine like this, but he can't imagine them.    
Raised in California.  He's too used to it.

Wesley hisses a little and twists towards him.

"Shh.  Hold still."  He resist the urge to look over his shoulder and  
see if Cordelia's watching.  Instead bends himself over Wesley,  
pushing him onto his back.  His mouth lands just below Wes' navel and  
sucks hard there for a second.  Lets go.  This isn't where he wants to  
leave a mark.  Pushes his mouth and nose down, pausing for just a  
second when he hits spandex.  Then pushes it down with a hand and  
keeps moving.

There's a place he's looking for, just where hip and thigh meet, that  
he knows is covered by the suit when it's in place.  Comes to it  
finally and licks there, enjoys Wesley's hiss.  And bites.

Just under the skin, there's a big vein.  He's starting to understand  
some of the appeal of being a vampire.  Warm, welcoming places all  
over the human body that open to you.  But at the moment he's not  
looking to break the skin.  He bites gently, then a little harder,  
then gently again.  Working the skin while the ribs against his  
shoulder heave and Wesley gets harder and harder against his cheek.

When he lets go, there's a massive hickey, and the imprint of his  
teeth is obvious.  Gunn smooths the suit back into place, ignoring the  
erection it's holding in.  Presses a swift kiss to Wesley's navel and  
gets down.  Standing upright, he can catch just a bit of a breeze,  
which feels *really* good, and he finds it's not all that hard to  
walk, really.  His shorts are loose enough not to give him instantly  
away, and it's worth the frustration just to hear the hissed, "Bloody  
hell," that comes from behind him.

He's most of the way back to his towel when he hears Wesley's voice in  
his ear.  Wes isn't there, and Gunn knows he isn't there, but he's  
getting used to the tricks Wes can play on him, and he manages not to  
jump.

"You bloody *tease*."

"If you say so."  Not bothering to hide his smirk.  He *definitely*  
won this one.  And sometime later today, he'll get to take care of the  
rest.  He's got this idea of him and Wes in the shower, getting the  
salt off and rubbing up against each other . . .

More sweetly, but still alien-British, "I'm going to *get* you."

He ignores that.  Doesn't think, somehow, he's going to get in the  
last word with a guy he can't walk away from.  So he goes back to his  
towel and thinks about nice, warm sleep, and doesn't think about how  
Cordelia's twisted to look at him, and how her hand keeps rubbing  
unconsciously at her hip.  He thinks that maybe the drive home with  
her this afternoon's going to be interesting.


End file.
